Captured
by it'slike.beinginlove
Summary: 2 excerpts from a potential upcoming story. A young photographer becomes Bruce Wayne's ally & lover, helping him return to the streets as Batman. When she crosses paths with Bane, he realizes that he can use her to break Batman. He takes her & keeps her by his side as he terrorizes Gotham. In the end, he may decide to keep her, rather than killing her as promised. Bruce/OC, Bane/OC
1. Two Excerpts

**Hello, everyone, I am back. What follows are two separate excerpts from a potential story. After seeing ****_The Dark Knight Rises_****, I became obsessed with Tom Hardy's Bane. A concept for a story came into my mind, and these are two parts of it that I was able to put to paper. This isn't the beginning of the story-the two parts I have written would occur at some point during the middle. ****_Captured_**** will take place during ****_TDKR_**** (that is, if I decide to write it). I would love any feedback you guys might have on this little experiment of mine! Happy reading! **

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Batman or ****_TDKR _****or Bane or the unbelievably sexy Tom Hardy.**

* * *

I was starting to panic. The sewers were cold, wet, and dark. I was an idiot to think that it would be easy for me to find a way out. My breath was coming out in short, quick puffs. I began to pick up the pace while still being as quiet as possible. I didn't want to die in the tunnels under Gotham.

Just when I was considering turning back—the commotion at the stock market exchange must have moved to the streets by now—I saw something on the ground near a fork in the tunnels. As I moved closer, I had to cover my mouth to prevent myself from screaming. The boy appeared to be no older than 16. He was thin and covered with dirt. Someone had shot him three times in the chest. It was then that I truly knew I was somewhere I was not supposed to be. The hairs rising at the back of my neck told me I was in danger.

Holding back my tears at the sight of the fallen child, I searched his body for a weapon of some sort. No such luck. However, there was a small flashlight in the front pocket of his jeans. I slid it out and held it in my hand, wondering to myself how much battery power was left. I pressed the button to turn it on, and aimed the beam of light in the direction the boy seemed to be going in. I reached down toward my waist and lightly touched my camera. I had made it this far without any sign of trouble. Perhaps Bane had taken all of his men with him to the surface. Maybe I could find something else down here that could help Bruce. And maybe I could find a quick way out.

Keeping the flashlight on, I quietly stepped down a staircase and peeked around a corner. There was no one in sight, so I kept moving. One long tunnel led to another staircase, and another. Finally, I came to a tunnel that was well lit. I turned the flashlight off and took a deep breath. I wanted to help Bruce, and there was no turning back now. I needed to hurry before Bane made it back down to the sewers. I broke into the quietest run I could muster, winding my way down a few more tunnels until I found it.

There was no question that this was Bane's home base. It was an overwhelmingly large cavern, strewn with metal platforms and bridges that crossed over the running waters below. I looked around the area, and could see no one. Other than the bridges and a few light rigs, the cavern seemed to be pretty bare—until I turned my head to the right. I had discovered Bane's control center: he had an abundance of computers, TV monitors, and other technological devices I couldn't even identify. They were set up around a giant metal table, and stacks of heavy explosives and gasoline surrounded the area. I took one last look around before I stepped over toward the table and picked up my camera. I adjusted the zoom and took a picture, and then turned to my left and took a picture of the whole cavern. I took a few more steps and approached the table. A large map was folded out, taking up half of the table's surface. It appeared to be a map of the tunnel system. One area was circled in red. I assumed it was the area I was standing in. Next to the map was a blueprint of a building: Wayne Enterprises**. ** Scrawled at the top of the blueprints was a set of geographical coordinates. I lifted the blueprints to see if there was anything underneath, and gasped when I saw photos of tanks and submachine guns. I snapped a picture of the evidence and pinched my eyes shut, trying my hardest to put the pieces together. I was jolted out of my thoughts by the sudden sound of shouting coming from behind me.

"HEY! What do you think you're doing, girly?" I spun around. The man wasn't large, but the gun he was holding certainly was. I barely had time to examine his thickly bearded face before he lifted the gun and aimed it at me. I couldn't allow my instant terror to paralyze me. I let my instincts take over and I sprinted to my right, throwing myself over the railing and into the water below. I covered my face with one arm and protected my camera and flashlight with the other as I hit the water. Luckily, it was deep and the current was strong. I quickly floated away and was out of the cavern by the time the man got close enough to begin shooting at me. I could hear his frantic shouting and threats of my imminent death as I rushed downstream.

The water was cold and it smelled absolutely awful. I was thankful when the current emptied me out into another tunnel. I rolled out of the water and struggled to stand up. My entire body was shaking. I couldn't believe I was still alive, and I knew that if I remained in these tunnels much longer, things wouldn't stay that way. I began to wonder if that man, who had undoubtedly been one of Bane's servants, had jumped into the water after me. If that was the case, I needed to move fast. I flicked the flashlight back on as I broke into a sprint.

I continued to let my instincts guide me as I ran, coming to another fork in the tunnel and taking a quick left. My spirits lifted when I saw a ladder at the end of the passageway. I began climbing quickly as soon as I reached the bottom, and was relieved to see that the manhole cover was removed. When I made it to the top, I paused to stick my head out and breathe in the fresh night air. I appeared to be on a side street off the main highway. The area was quiet and there were no cars in sight. I prepared to lift myself out of the tunnel. That was when I heard a motorbike approaching. I turned to my left and saw a man speeding towards me. The red helmet he was wearing made it impossible to see who he was, but the speed he was moving at made me assume he was somehow involved with the stock market exchange crisis. I could now faintly hear police sirens. I hesitated. I really didn't want to go back down into the tunnels, but if I jumped out of the manhole and ran, he would be able to catch me if he wanted to. That mere moment's hesitation sealed my fate.

Before I had a chance to make a decision, the bike skidded to a stop next to the manhole. The sirens were getting louder, and the man on the bike seemed to hear them. He looked behind him and then at me, slowly pulling off his helmet. I felt my mouth go dry and my pulse quicken. It was him. The man that had seemed to come from nowhere. The masked man. I was less than two feet away from Bane's feet.

This time, I couldn't help but be paralyzed by my horror. Bane was a huge mass of muscle, and his blue-grey eyes widened as they pierced mine. I didn't know what to do. I wondered if I should try to cover up my camera, but that would draw attention to it. It didn't matter. He glanced down at it before meeting my eyes again. I struggled to hold his gaze, knowing my obvious fear was written all over my face. The sirens were growing still louder. I quickly glanced to my left and felt a glimmer of hope. I could see the front of a parade of speeding police cars headed straight toward us. I looked back at Bane, who then looked toward the noise, appearing to weigh his options. Once our eyes were no longer locked, I took a chance. I slid down the ladder, quickly disappearing from view, and waited at the bottom. I knew that if he chased after me, my life would end in less than a minute. I held my breath. To my relief, I heard his motorbike speed away, dozens of cop cars quickly following him. When the sound stopped, I climbed back out of the ladder and headed toward home.

I clutched my camera tightly to me, thinking of the evidence I just gathered. Bruce would be able to use those pictures. They would maybe even help to stop Bane from doing whatever horrible things he was planning. I couldn't prevent his horrifying image from creeping back into my mind. His eyes seemed to capture me like my camera had captured him earlier that day. I knew for certain I couldn't hide in plain sight anymore. If I ever met the masked man again, he would kill me, and I wouldn't be able to help Bruce. I needed to be careful. Oddly, I didn't feel afraid. As I walked, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I decided that I would go see Bruce the very next day. Attempting to keep my mind off of the horrors I had witnessed in the sewers, I thought about what I would wear when I went to see him. I allowed a smile to spread across my face as I thought of my hero, Bruce Wayne- the Batman. I thought of the kisses he had gently placed on my neck just a few nights before, and his strong arms that held me as we lied sprawled out on his bed. I imagined lightly touching the scars that were scattered on his back and chest. I couldn't believe I had feelings for the man who I had once thought to be nothing more than a self-obsessed billionaire.

As I lied awake in bed that night, however, it wasn't Bruce's face I saw. Bane's wide-eyed leer appeared whenever I closed my eyes, and I couldn't help feeling some of my fear return. Something told me that he was bent on controlling Gotham, and I knew something terrible was coming. Sighing deeply, I rolled over in bed and clutched a pillow to my stomach. I tried to bring Bruce Wayne back into my thoughts as I finally began to drift off to sleep.

* * *

I pushed open the heavy mansion door and called out for Bruce once again. The house was dark. I guessed that his power had been shut off.

"Bruce!" I called. "I have something I need to show you!" I walked up the stairs toward his bedroom, tightly clutching the photos I had printed earlier that day. As I reached the top of the stairs, I thought I sensed movement.

"Bruce?" I continued to walk toward his bedroom, panicking slightly as the hallway seemed to darken. "Bruce, are you there?"

Once again, I thought I sensed movement behind me. I quickly whipped around. "Bruce, I know you enjoy hiding in the dark, but this is not funny." I squinted my eyes and thought I could see a shadowy figure standing at the top of the staircase. "Bruce?" I blinked, and the figure was gone.

_"Great,"_ I thought to myself. _"Just what I need right now."_ I cursed my eyes for playing tricks on me. I thought I heard a floorboard creak and turned back around. This was getting ridiculous.

"Bruce!" I called out once more. "Please, that's enough!" Just as I lifted my foot to take another step forward, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I gasped as the grip tightened, and I knew the man touching me was not Bruce Wayne.

"Afraid of the dark?" A familiar voice rumbled. I felt a chill travel through my entire body. Bane had found me. I didn't dare move. "Give us a light!" Bane called out, immediately spinning me around to face him and shoving me up against a wall with one hand. I shuddered as a lantern was turned on and my eyes once again were locked with Bane's. He was standing impossibly close to me. His clothes were slightly damp, and he smelled faintly of sweat and gunpowder.

He continued to glare at me, seemingly waiting for me to respond. I tried to appear as confident as possible as I continued to hold his gaze, though I knew he could sense my terror. With as much strength as I could muster, I attempted to speak.

"Bane," I whispered, almost mesmerized by the even breathing sounds coming from his mask. "What have you done with Bruce Wayne?"

"Bruce Wayne is being punished," Bane said in his warped voice. "And I came here to punish you." Still holding me firmly with one hand, he ripped the photos out of my arms with the other. Fanning them out, he looked at them briefly and stuffed them in his pocket. He looked at me once more.

"Now, if I may ask, what were you planning on doing with these pictures?" His blue-grey eyes seemed to be looking right through me. I hesitated. He let go of my shoulder and threw a punch at the wall just next to my head, his fist effortlessly going through it. I cringed and turned away as some of the debris hit my face. He grabbed my chin with one hand and turned me to face him again. Our faces were barely a few inches apart. His eyes widened. "I will ask you again. What were you planning on doing with these pictures?"

This time, I answered without hesitation. "I was bringing them to Bruce Wayne. I want to help him stop you." I expected him to react to this statement, but he didn't move. He continued to hold my face close, his stare boring into me. He put his other hand on my neck, and I knew I was done for.

"You know," he said quietly, "I came here planning to kill you. Then I saw your choice of attire. That is…quite a dress." His eyes lowered, and I knew he was looking over my entire body. I felt my face grow hot as he continued to examine me. Time seemed to crawl until he finally spoke again. "I heard Mister Wayne and his new girlfriend were mixing business and pleasure. I had no idea that this girlfriend happened to be the pretty little photographer I was looking for." I imagined that he was smirking under his mask. Embarrassed, I said nothing. I wondered why he was stalling. I braced myself for the end.

The hand that was holding my neck now moved down to my waist, and I couldn't help but squirm a little. His grip tightened on my chin. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you now. You are going to help me punish Bruce Wayne." My eyes widened. I had no idea what that could have possibly meant.

"You see, my dear," he continued, "If I have you, I can break him even further. I will keep you until it is time for him to die. And then I will kill you." I could barely breathe. I couldn't even imagine what horrors lied in store for me.

"I would never hurt Bruce," I somehow managed to blurt out. In an instant he closed the distance between our bodies.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before he spoke again. "Not willingly," he said, and when he opened his eyes, they seemed almost black. I tried in vain to push away from him. He grabbed the back of my head with one hand and our eyes met again.

"Now, now, don't struggle. I'd hate for you to ruin that little dress of yours." I barely had time to react to the perverse tone in his voice before he brought his head toward mine with a crash. My world went black and I went limp in Bane's arms.


	2. Meeting Bruce Wayne

**I would like to thank everyone for their overwhelming support! I'm so glad you guys liked the excerpts I've written. I have seen _The Dark Knight Rises_ two more times since then, and have become more obsessed with Tom Hardy's Bane each time. This is the first official chapter of _Captured_. To my fellow Bane enthusiasts: sorry there wasn't much of him to be seen in this episode. I had to cover at least some of my character's back story (and I have a lot of it still in my head!) Feel free to leave comments, criticisms, or ideas! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

I am by no means a skilled photographer—just a girl with a fancy camera and impeccable timing. I always tend to stumble upon secrets, to wander into forbidden places and hear things I shouldn't. Up until the arrival of the masked man, I thought of it as a gift. It had even made me a good amount of money, not to mention it got me a ticket to the Harvey Dent Day event at Wayne Manor every year. On the 8th anniversary of the district attorney's death, I walked toward Bruce Wayne's home filled with confidence and a sense of purpose. For years, I had been trying to get Bruce Wayne to return to the outside world. This time, I was sure I had him.

* * *

I don't remember how old I was when I discovered I had a knack for hiding in plain sight. I do, however, remember the first time I sold a photograph so I wouldn't go hungry. It was a cold October night, and I walked back and forth past a strip mall, knowing I needed money but fighting with the idea of breaking the law. Just when I decided it wouldn't be worth it to steal, I saw a man with a gun fleeing the convenience store that I would have targeted. As he ran to his car and threw himself inside, I absentmindedly reached for my camera and snapped a few pictures. The next day, it was all over the news that the man was wanted for the murder of the store clerk. As a witness to the crime, I felt a need to act. I used my last sheets of photo paper to make copies of the pictures I had taken the night before, and I made my way to the police station.

When I handed my photo to an officer, all I received was a pat on the head and a "job well done"—a small gesture that triggered my lack of faith in the integrity of Gotham's police force. As I left the station that day, I was addressed by a man wearing cheap cologne and an even cheaper sports coat. "Hey, doll," he said to me. "Got anything I'd be interested in?" Despite my instant dislike for this man, I unclenched my grip on the remaining photos in my hand when I saw the check he was prepared to write me. That day started a dark period in my life, a time during which I witnessed crimes and sold my evidence to the newspapers so I could pay my rent. I wasn't satisfied with the life I was living, but I saw no greater purpose for me. That is, until news of the "Batman" spread around Gotham.

At first, Batman was just another way to make money. I spent night after night searching for him, taking as many pictures as I could and selling them throughout town. My camera hardly ever captured more than his shadow—he was the Batman, after all. However, newspapers kept buying, and so I kept trying to find him. During my escapades, I would hear rumors: "Batman saved my life." "He doesn't kill." "He's a hero." "He's risking everything." As time went on, I found myself wanting a _real_ picture of Batman, but not for the money. I wanted to know the man who, night after night, did what the police wouldn't do. I became obsessed with getting a good photograph. I didn't achieve my goal until years later, when a man called The Joker brought chaos and destruction to Gotham.

* * *

The speeches on the 8th anniversary of Harvey Dent's death hardly varied from the ones given in past years. The mayor made his statement and called Commissioner Gordon to the podium. Each year, it got harder for me to watch my friend struggle with his secret. As he gave up his fight and began his usual speech about the Harvey Dent Act, he briefly met my eyes and silently communicated the anguish he was feeling. I listened to him carefully word his lie, but it was hard to bear. I reached into my purse for the photos I had taken a few nights before. This had to be my year. This year, I would bring Batman back. I took a deep breath and slipped out of the crowd, making my way to the service entrance of Wayne Manor.

I peered into the kitchen and my heart sank. For the past few years, I had easily been able to spot the silver tray that would make its way up to Bruce Wayne's room, and I had simply slipped my photos inside of it before someone took it upstairs. This time, I feared I was too late. The silver tray was gone. I was temporarily defeated, but as I listened to the applause coming from the courtyard, my sense of purpose and obligation to act filled me once more. Batman and Commissioner Gordon had given me my life back; I couldn't just give up now. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that the photos I held in my hand were important, that they revealed something big. Bruce Wayne needed to see them. I decided to hide outside the door until all of the waitresses, maids, and cooks were gone. When the last maid scurried out the door, I turned and bolted through the kitchen, trying to decide where Bruce would choose to hide in such a colossal house.

I decided to run up the master staircase and explore the upstairs halls. I was scared, but that feeling was small compared to the anticipation of finally seeing Batman in person. My breath was shallow as I approached the end of the corridor, and I pushed on a door that had been left cracked open. I stopped short. There he was. I didn't think I would be able to find him so easily. Bruce Wayne was bent down, examining something. He looked up as soon as he sensed my presence. He gave the impression of being weak, but I could still see my hero under his messy hair and beard. His eyes darted to the photographs in my left hand.

I was temporarily struck speechless. Bruce Wayne: the man with all the money in the world, yet the desire for none of it. The man who once gave himself, body and soul, to Gotham without asking for anything in return. The man who taught me that it was possible to be decent in this town. I finally opened my mouth to say something, but it was he that spoke first:

"It's you." Huh. Exactly what I was going to say. He used his cane to pull himself to his feet and slowly walked over towards me. "You're the sneaky little photographer. What are you doing here?"

I didn't step back as he approached me. "Commissioner Gordon invited me," I said. "He does every year."

"Yes," said Bruce, still moving closer. "And, every year, you slip me photographs. Why?" His eyes, Batman's eyes, were searching me. My thoughts went back to the year I had finally taken the photo I had always yearned for, and I know his did, too.

"Look, I know what you think of me, but I swear, I am trying to help." I stammered, trying to fit my whole explanation in one breath. "I don't sell my pictures, anymore. I don't need to. Since that night, I have only taken pictures for you."

He stared at me in silence for a moment. I suddenly became aware of my appearance, and resisted looking down to make sure I looked presentable. I continued to meet Bruce's stare. He finally spoke again. "That doesn't answer my question, Miss…"

"Hartford. Rebecca Hartford."

"Miss Hartford. You probably shouldn't have told me your name," he said, and I couldn't tell if he was joking or being serious. "Soon, I'll know everything about you that I need to know."

I didn't like how that sounded. He was making me sound like the enemy. "Bruce…er…Mr. Wayne, I'm not a bad person. I am trying to help. These pictures—"

"Those pictures, I'm guessing, are more of the same. People starving, gang fights, random acts of arson…why do you insist on showing me this? I know what's out there. I've been out there." He leaned heavily on his cane. I could tell that my attempts to bring him back outside did nothing more than hurt him.

"I'm so sorry," I breathed. "I was just trying to show you how badly Gotham needs you."

His eyes briefly narrowed at my indirect reference to his secret identity. "I've moved on," he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. I looked down at the photos in my hand and thought about walking away and sparing this man any more pain. And then I found my resolve. _"One last shot,"_ I thought to myself, and I extended my arm toward Bruce, showing him the photos.

"Please," I said. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I would never want…that was never my intention. I know the commissioner told you about me." I paused and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I know you think that I am some crook who got bribed to keep her mouth shut. But I took the money from him because I _needed_ it. I just wanted to be able to help you. Please. I promise, if you look at these pictures, I will never come back here again. You'll never see another photograph of mine. I think that these might really be important. I think something bigger is going on."

Despite my inarticulate speech, I thought I saw Bruce's eyes warm slightly. His jaw unclenched, and reached out and took the pictures from my hand. He flipped through them rather quickly, but stopped when he got to the last one. I leaned forward to see which photo had caught his eye. He looked up at me so I could elaborate. I became very aware of how close my face was to his.

"I took that a few days ago," I explained. The photo was of men huddling around a manhole; they were, as I recalled, lowering themselves into the tunnels below Gotham one by one. "It seemed peculiar. They all seemed to be in a hurry. One of the men was unconscious…" I pointed my finger to a man slumped over another man's shoulder.

"And this man…" I pointed toward the smallest figure in the picture. "He looked so familiar to me. He didn't belong with those other guys. He was wearing a suit and tie. It just didn't seem right. "

Bruce looked at the photo for a few more moments, visibly frustrated, before lifting his gaze to meet mine. I couldn't handle the uncomfortable silence, so I turned to leave.

"I'll go," I said. "Thank you for your time. I know you don't need my help. I just figured it was the least I could do. Gotham really does need Batman, Mr. Wayne. If it didn't, I wouldn't be here."

"Wait," Bruce closed the distance I had made between us and grabbed my arm. His hand was warm on my skin. "Miss Hartford, you should really consider showing these photos to the police. I am retired. Batman is gone."

"Mr. Wayne, you know as well as I do that the police in Gotham can't always be trusted to save the city. Our only true protector is you." I gave him a half smile and then walked out of the room, determined to hold on to any air of mystery that I had left.

When I made it back outside of Wayne Manor, I let out a huge sigh of relief. I hoped that my picture of the men entering the sewers was enough to at least tempt Batman to come back to the streets. I wasn't lying when I said I thought Gotham needed him. Ever since I had taken that photo, I had been on edge. My body seemed to have executed the fight-or-flight response to some unknown danger. I knew something was coming, and I was determined to battle it the only way I knew how.

If I had known that in a few weeks time, I would be at the mercy of Bane—If I had known how powerless I would be against him, or how there would be no escape—I would have ran from Gotham that very night. Instead, I went home and slept soundly, unaware of the grave danger I would soon be in.


	3. Fear of a Name

**Hi, everyone! I can't thank you enough for the love you guys are giving me for this story. For all you fellow Bane-iacs (see what I did there?), I'm sorry to inform you that he really doesn't appear in this chapter, either. There's a bit of Bruce Wayne, though! ;) I'm essentially trying to stay as true to the movie as I can remember it while adding Rebecca and her relationship with Bruce and Bane into the mix. I'm going to do my best to make sure he appears in the next chapter! As always, I appreciate any support or criticism you guys are willing to give! I hope you like it!**

* * *

Rumors about the masked man began spreading through the streets. Not since The Joker's time had whispers about a criminal made me so nervous. They said he was impossibly strong. They said he couldn't be stopped.

When I heard that Commissioner Gordon had been hospitalized, I went to him as quickly as I could. He had been shot while investigating down in the sewers. I felt my stomach retch, and I knew that I was correct to be suspicious about the photos I had given Bruce Wayne. When I walked into Gordon's room, a weak smile appeared on his face.

"Miss Hartford. Good to see you, as always."

I sat down at the chair next to his bed. "You know you can call me Rebecca, Commissioner."

"Only if you call me Jim, like I have been asking you to do for years."

I smiled at him. "Okay, Jim. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm surviving. What's really killing me is not being able to get back out there." I opened my mouth to give him a comforting reply, but he abruptly changed the subject. "Rebecca…the money I gave you all those years ago is almost gone by now, isn't it?"

I nodded glumly. "Yes. I know I said I'd pay you back, and I promise that I will do that….eventually. Things are tight right now."

"Sounds like you need to find some honest work." I felt like he was scolding me.

"Yes, sir. It's just that I got fired from my last job for being late too many times."

"Long nights out on the streets with your camera?"

"I'm not selling pictures to newspapers anymore," I quickly replied. "I have just been working on a project of my own."

"Taking pictures for Batman." I was caught off guard by that statement. I shoved aside the fake alibi I had planned to give him. I owed him the truth, anyway.

"Yes," I replied. "Well, not FOR him. I take pictures of Gotham, hoping that he will see how necessary to the city he is. I think we still need him."

"I couldn't agree more," Jim replied. He sat up slightly in his bed and adjusted his pillow before turning to me again, all playfulness gone from his expression. "How do you get him to see your pictures?"

My breath caught in my lungs. I had forgotten that Jim didn't know Batman's identity, and I figured that if Bruce Wayne wanted him to know, he would have told him. "I don't, " I lied. "That's the other part of my project. I am trying to find him."

"Unfortunately, my dear, I have to tell you that I stopped trying to figure out who he was years ago. If the Batman doesn't want to be found, then you won't be able to find him." I shifted uncomfortably at the lack of truth in that statement. I had discovered who he was 8 years ago, with the help of my camera. "I think you should focus on something else for the time being."

"Like what?" I asked, hoping he wasn't going to lecture me on the importance of having a real job.

"Well, it just so happens that I am in need of an assistant. I need someone to be my eyes and ears out in Gotham City while I am stuck in this dreary hospital room. I was wondering if you would do that for me. I would pay you wages."

The idea intrigued me, but I hesitated. "Look, Jim, I can't take any more money from you. You've done enough. I'd like to help you in any way I can, but I don't need to be paid for it."

"You can help me by letting me pay you. Please, Rebecca. You are the only one who understands the…uneasiness I am feeling. I assume you heard about Bane while you were out on the streets."

"Bane?" The name disoriented me. I could hear the rumors about him like whispers in my ears. It took a few seconds for my brain to return to its focus. "The masked man? Did you see him? Was he down in the sewers?"

"I saw him," Gordon replied. "I don't like to let myself be intimidated by the criminals that disgrace this city. But this man…he's different. I don't think we can be too careful."

I leaned forward, far too intrigued by this subject. I could feel my heart throbbing and grasped the rail of Jim's bed to steady myself. "What makes him different, sir?"

He studied me for a moment, perhaps disturbed by my reaction that I knew I wasn't hiding very well. "I watched him kill one of his own men without a second thought. Along with a disregard for humanity, he seems very calculated. I didn't get a good look around, but I fear he is working on something big."

I took in his information, and absentmindedly touched my camera while I wondered what Bane looked like. I looked over at my friend. Jim seemed legitimately frightened of this man. While I felt uncomfortable taking more money from him, it seemed wrong to turn down his plea for help. After all, he had given me a better life.

I made a quick decision. "I'll do it. I'll be your assistant. What should I do first?"

He smiled and reached out his hand for me to shake. "Excellent, Rebecca. Thank you. The first thing I need for you to do is attend a charity ball held by Miranda Tate. You can take my invitation. I only go to these things so I can keep my ears open for anything irregular. Since you have a knack for being in places you shouldn't be, I assume you might be able to pick up more secrets than I ever could."

"What am I listening for, sir?" Half of me was interested in his response. The girly side of me was already planning what I was going to wear to a high society ball.

"Anything," he replied. "After everything that's happened, I don't know who I can trust. I don't think Bane made it into Gotham on his own. If he had a banker, then that person will be at the ball. I don't expect you to find him, but I'm hoping there's a chance you might overhear some important information. Do you have a dress?"

I grimaced. I hadn't exactly been too responsible with Gordon's money in the past, and I had used it to splurge on a ball gown I had been eyeing for a month. "Yes, sir," I replied. "I'm sure I'll find something."

"Excellent," he settled back in his pillow and nodded at me. "Now, get to work!"

I left the hospital excited for what was to come, though also slightly nervous. I didn't want to let Jim down, but I feared he was overestimating me. Plus, I didn't exactly feel comfortable with the idea of snooping around among all of those rich people. Though, admittedly, I had snooped around in a rich man's business just a few nights ago. I smiled to myself as I thought of my encounter with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I would go see him again. After all, if he knew that Jim Gordon was afraid of Bane, maybe he'd take the matter seriously. Maybe, just maybe, I'd see Batman out on the streets before the week was out.

* * *

I was having second thoughts as I walked toward the building that Miranda Tate had rented out for the ball. The entryway was surrounded by paparazzi practically climbing over each other to get shots of the elite stepping out of their cars. I adjusted the straps of my emerald green ball gown and tried to appear determined as I reached them. As it turned out, I didn't need to look my best for them. Not one of them spared me a glance. I rolled my eyes and approached the doorman, reaching into my clutch for Jim's invitation.

The man didn't even look up as he held his clipboard at the ready. "Name?"

"Uh, Jim Gordon," I said awkwardly. The man looked up at me, one eyebrow arched. "He's, um..in the hospital, so he gave me his invitation." I felt myself blushing in discomfort as I meekly held up the piece of paper.

"Fair enough," the man said with a hint of sarcasm as he shooed me away. "Go in."

The fact that I was able to walk right in despite my suddenly poor social skills boosted my confidence slightly, and I held my head high as I made my way into the ballroom. A breathtaking crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, lighting up the figures of dozens of men and women sweeping across the dance floor. The room had a balcony level, from which many spectators watched the dancing couples. My eyes closed in on the seemingly endless spread of food, and it took a few minutes of staring in total awe before I realized what I was supposed to be doing.

I gripped my clutch tightly. Leaving my camera behind was a hard thing to do, but I figured it might arouse suspicion or prevent me from getting into the ball. A waiter carrying flutes of champagne walked by, and I took two, quickly downing them both. _"Just need to calm my nerves,"_ I thought to myself. I decided my best bet was to head up to the balcony to get a good look at things and see if I recognized anybody. I quickly drank another champagne for luck and headed up the steps. It didn't take long for me to find a familiar face. When I reached the top of the stairs, I couldn't prevent myself from grinning.

Bruce Wayne was standing there, nonchalantly leaning over the balcony. His eyes were following the people dancing, so he didn't notice me hesitating just a few feet beside him. I couldn't decide whether or not it would be appropriate of me to approach him, so I simply stood there, dumbfounded. He looked _good_. His face was clean-shaven, and he stood up straight without a cane. However, though his worn out appearance was gone, the weary look in his eye remained. I wondered what could be troubling him. I decided to leave him be—for a little while, anyway—and turned to go back downstairs, when I felt him touch my arm.

"I didn't expect to see you here, " he said, and I turned around to face him.

"I could say the same to you, Mr. Wayne," I replied, and I was amazed at how calm and cool I sounded.

"Please, call me Bruce," he said, giving the trademark Bruce Wayne smile that would have made me gag back when I thought he was just another stuck-up billionaire.

"Well, Bruce, what made you decide to grace Gotham with your presence again?" He was still touching my arm.

"I discovered that I had some business I need to attend to," he said, finally releasing me. "Plus, the view is a lot nicer out here."

My smile widened, and I bit my bottom lip, letting his compliment sink in. "Bruce," I said playfully, "I was under the impression that you weren't too fond of me. " I felt myself leaning toward him. The champagne was affecting me more than I had intended, and I silently cursed at myself for not eating enough that day. I couldn't let a little champagne blur my senses. I was supposed to be eavesdropping for Jim.

Bruce seemed amused by my tipsiness. "I never said that," he replied. "I said I didn't trust you. Those are two different things."

I pouted. "I wish I could change that."

"Maybe you can," he said quietly. "Are you free to stop by my place tomorrow afternoon? I have a lot of questions for you."

I examined Bruce's brown eyes, and silently wished that I had brought my camera with me. He was a tortured soul, one so beautiful that I was amazed I hadn't known who he really was the first time I saw him. I snapped myself out of my dreamlike state, remembering again the reason I had come to this ball. I didn't want to report back to Jim with nothing but thoughts of Bruce Wayne.

I took a step back and nodded. "Yes, I can do that. But for now, I should go. See you tomorrow, Bruce."

"You never told me what you were doing here," he replied, and I gave him one last smile.

"I'm here on behalf of a mutual friend." With that, I turned and headed back down the stairs. I was tempted to reward myself with more champagne, but I shook that thought of my mind. I had a real task at hand. I made my way through the groups of people with newfound resolve, keeping my ears open for anything out of the ordinary.

I meandered around the party for an hour or so, accepting an offer to dance every once and a while. After a time, I became exhausted, and I decided that the cause was hopeless. Any shady business going on in the high society world must have been going on behind closed doors. I gave in to one final glass of champagne and headed for the door.

The fresh air smelled wonderful, and despite having failed to acquire any useful information for Jim, I felt light as a feather. I walked right past my car, knowing that I was in no state to drive home. I took off my heels and headed for my apartment, wishing I had sneaked some of that champagne out of the ball somehow. As I waited to cross the street, a car pulled up and stopped near where I was standing. I could hear someone approaching it quickly from behind me, and I turned so I could determine whether or not I was in his way. Unfortunately, I had taken a step in the wrong direction, and I smacked right into a short man wearing a simple black suit. He looked vaguely familiar, like I had seen him before in the newspaper. I opened my mouth to apologize, and he simply shoved around me and got in the car, rapidly talking on his cell phone.

Suddenly, I didn't feel tipsy anymore. I felt ice cold, and the abrupt shock of it prevented me from moving. "Bane." I had heard it, clear as could be. The man had said his name, just as he was closing the car door. I knew I wasn't mistaken. I felt numb. The car had driven away by the time the shock wore off. I turned around and looked in the direction it had headed, but it was nowhere in sight. My only scrap of evidence had turned the corner and headed somewhere unknown, leaving me with nothing to hold on to but the fear that was rapidly growing inside of me.


End file.
